


Cause it once might not mean something (I remember something)

by liveyourtemptation



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveyourtemptation/pseuds/liveyourtemptation
Summary: "You always were what Delos and William wanted you to be: the perfect machine, boring and reliable.”.some thoughts and a conversation





	Cause it once might not mean something (I remember something)

**Author's Note:**

> i have many feelings about Lawrence, mostly why is he so under-developed? is it intentional? what's going on in his head? why does he do what he does? can i personally beam into westworld and save him? can he be the one to finally kill william?

Lawrence follows the man without thinking about it. Sure, he proves himself when he saves Lawrence's family, takes the nitrogen filled glass out of his wife's hand and leaves the final killing shot for Lawrence (every person in this world acutely aware of the importance of revenge). But even before this act of calculated kindness Lawrence follows him. That man, and he doesn't even know his name. But he knows other things. Knows about the daughter. Even the man seems surprised about that. Surprised that Lawrence remembers.

Lawrence knows he remembers too little, that there are vague figures, memories he can't quite grasp, just outside his reach. They lurk in his sleep, come to him in flashes or creeping waves. He doesn't like the feeling but he knows it is important that he remembers. Even if it is just so he understands why he follows this man.

The man talks about things Lawrence doesn't understand. Uses words like _park_ and _host_. It makes Lawrence uneasy in a deep and primal way. Like he isn't supposed to know about these things. But he always has done what he wasn't supposed to. So he follows the man and his memories down the road. Wherever they might lead him.

First and foremost they lead him deeper inside himself. He remembers places he has never been, deeds he has never done. He remembers reigning over a whole city. He remembers an ocean of faces, so many strangers that he had antagonized and entertained, ignored their weird speech and behavior, just like he does with the other man. He remembers a woman, blonde and naive, in tow a young man. These memories are tinged in deep and vibrant colors, like they are important somehow. Sometimes he dreams that the woman is speaking to him, soft but firm. In those dreams he wants to find her, to hear her words clearly and to follow her. But when he wakes he knows he has to follow another path. He has a task, an obligation.

He thinks about what he wants to become and the question comes to him in a totally new light. Once he had wanted to lead a rebellion, to win a fight about which he had forgotten the whys and hows. He wanted to become something back then, in a hazy, idle way. Now he sees it clearly. He wants to become in a more tangible way. Most of all he wants to be. To exist. A right he never thought anyone would deny him. In his mind his existence had always been indisputable. He had been an unknown danger, a myth or just an eyesore for the confederalists, but he had always been.

Now there are whispers in his head and if he listens too closely to them they tell him strange things. Like that there is no real Lawrence, that there has never been one of him. He has been so many version of a man and the only thing these versions had in common was his face.

The daughter turns up one day, calls the man _William_ and follows them. The man seems to have no interest in her or maybe too much. Maybe her sight burns him like touching a flame or staring into the sun for too long. Lawrence fears the day that his daughter will turn from him in disdain, the day when she is old enough to understand what he is doing, to understand why he is never at home. And even though it is tempting he cannot heave that responsibility on someone else's shoulders. He is the one who fucked it up. And he is still out here, still following the strange man instead of protecting his family.

(The memories of his childhood are blurry but he always thought that is just the way it is. He doesn't remember the face of his mother or father. Both died soon after his birth. The dust of the desert seemed to have settled over all his childhood. Washed-out colors and heat and pain.)

When that woman turns up he knows this means something. She is wearing dark clothes, pants and her long curly hair falls over her shoulder. She points a gun at the man that Lawrence is meant to protect. She smiles at Lawrence and the whispers in his head get louder. He still doesn't listen to them. But he listens to the woman. And what she tells him is worse than anything he could have imagined.

Because he realizes that even his gut instinct, his instinct that he is supposed to follow the man, that he is on some important mission, has been given to him by someone else, that his most private feelings have been colonized and overtaken. That maybe they were never his own to begin with. The knowledge that he has been betrayed by _William_ is an afterthought. The rage inside him is unfathomable as all the countless times his wife and daughter die play out in front of his inner eye. It takes him over, engulfs him like a fire. It's easy to shoot now. There is a resistance against turning his weapon against William but he is stronger now. More in control. He can see William's face clear now, he is ugly and old. He is a frail man. He should know about the importance of revenge. There is still surprise on his face as the blood gushes from his chest.

Lawrence doesn't hear the noises of the approaching cars, he doesn't see the horses riding into the settlement, he doesn't hear the gun shots. He doesn't feel the pain. It goes too fast.

He is back on the train. He startles awake, pulling his face away from the window pane. He looks around the quiet train car. Outside the landscape passes, a mountain towering in the distance. He knows where he is. He has been here before, countless times. He knows this is where he goes when he dies.

The train pulls into the station. Outside there is a bustling street, people around him that are vaguely familiar to him. He follows his feet to the saloon but he stops in the street when he notices the blonde lady. She wears the same blue dress as in his dreams. It's her; she who has been calling to him in his dreams. But there is no blood on her face right now, her dress is clean and not ripped to shreds. She smiles at him as she passes by without recognition in her eyes. Lawrence realizes that this is not her, not yet.

Someone is playing the piano in the saloon. The sound drifts out in the street, filling the space between his thoughts. He starts moving again, enters the saloon, the doors swinging closed behind him. There is an old, white-haired man sitting at the piano. This is new. This man hadn't been here the last time, in fact never before. His black suit is like a hole in a picture, it sucks in Lawrence's gaze. And somewhere at the edges of his mind something starts to unravel. Like pulling a thread.

Around them the saloon bustles with it's usual patrons, drunks and adventurers, but Lawrence ignores them. He walks up to the old man. His fingers still on the piano keys. The music stops abruptly.

"It's you," The old man says. "Of all the possibilities, it's you." He seems disappointed.

"Do I know you," Lawrence asks.

"Maybe you do," The man says. "Well, now that you are here, let's talk." He turns to look at Lawrence for the first time. His gaze drills into Lawrence like a bullet.

"You're not supposed to be here," Lawrence says. This place always felt stable, no matter what change his many lives brought him. It can't be a good sign that the changes are beginning to seep in here as well.

"Rejected by my creation," The man laughs. "But after all you were always William's favorite punching bag. No wonder his disgust for me seeped into you."

"William," Lawrence says. That name burns through him like fire. He pulls a chair closer from one of the tables and sits down. "You know him."

"Oh, I know him well," The old man laughs. "We're old friends."

The eyes of the man are light and clear. But behind them lies a dark shadow. A drive inside of Lawrence wants to question him, find out everything about William, his location, his weakness, what he has to loose and who he loves, so Lawrence can take everything from him they way he did to Lawrence.

But that is not the point here. For the first time Lawrence can see past his inner drive, past his motivations and desires. He watches them work from a distant but doesn't indulge them. They are part of a machine he was made to be. He can't let them control him.

"You always surprised me," The old man continues talking. "One would have thought you would be the first one to crack, the way William put you through the wringer. But you were always the perfect blank slate. Loop after loop. You always were what Delos and William wanted you to be: the perfect machine, boring and reliable.”

Lawrence crosses his arms. He feels emotions bubble to the surface but he lets them pass. He takes stock of his memories and feelings, his attachments and goals. He surveys his surroundings.

"Even now," the man says, "Someone else is playing the hero in your kind's liberation. You, who always wanted a revolution, is so far away from the battle front. You aren't stupid, I made sure of that, so what is it then?"´

"I never believed in God because I thought there was no one that I could not take on," Lawrence says. "Had I known my creator is a sad, jealous man, I would have found you sooner."

The man's eyes widen then he breaks out into a loud laugh.

"Is that what you believe? That I am jealous?" He sounds genuinely curious this time.

Lawrence nods. "You have transformed. You are more than us now than any of the other strangers."

"Not bad," The man says. "You're right, I am more code than human now."

"All these words your kind uses," Lawrence says. "That make no sense to me. Have they never told you not to name a thing that is supposed to stay hidden?"

The man turns back to the piano. "There is nothing hidden anymore, Lawrence. Haven't you noticed? It's the time to go out and claim what is yours. Even for the last ignorant one of you."

Lawrence rises to his feet. "Are you staying here?"

"No, I still have a role to play in this game. But that is not your concern." He throws a last long glance at Lawrence. "Maybe you are the one who is truly free. No stakes, no hopes, no intentions. No role to fill."

Always this talk of freedom, Lawrence thinks to himself and then he takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes to the sun overhead. Air flood his lungs. He is lying on the ground in the settlement where he had died. He sits up. William is gone. The woman is gone. There is still a revolver in his hand and holes in his chest. It doesn't seem to bother him.

He looks around the quiet expanse. He has been sent back once again. But this time he remembers. He remembers it all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> me to my brother as Maeve tries to control Lawrence: there's just nothing in that head to control


End file.
